


Just This Moment

by esterized



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Drinking, First Time, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, Praise Kink, Smut, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), dumbass idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 13:20:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19442272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esterized/pseuds/esterized
Summary: “Angel,” he implored, turning around and sitting up to face him, resting his chin on the armrest of Aziraphale’s chair. “What is it like?”“The act of lovemaking?”“For Heaven’s sake, Aziraphale, just call it bloody sex like the rest of the world,” he snapped.“That’s mighty rich coming from someone who has never engaged in such an act,” he snapped back, the words leaving his lips before he could consider their weight. Crowley shot him a disapproving look and Aziraphale suddenly felt as though he had ruined the already dangerously fragile moment.He placed a hand tentatively on Crowley’s forearm and softened his gaze. Crowley’s eyes shot wide open at the touch and his cheeks began to turn a crimson red. “I’m sorry, my dear. I… I forgot myself. It… it is difficult to explain.”____________________Prose bits were written with the voice of God in my head, if that helps with any particularly clunky bits





	Just This Moment

It had been a week since the End of the World and an angel and a demon had been drinking in an old bookshop in Soho for approximately the last six of them. Neither of them could remember exactly _why_ they had started drinking, for they had been doing so solidly for at least the last three of those hours and were therefore unaware of a lot of things, but they were still sane enough of mind to maintain their own argumentative stances.

“My point is, angel…” Crowley drawled, taking another loud and messy sip from his half-empty wine glass. He could not remember where he was going with this particular sentence anymore, nor was he all too confident on where it had begun but he would pursue it further regardless of this information. “My point _is_ , that the humans – ridiculous and _marvellous_ as they may be – should’ve stopped with all this gobbledegook millennia ago.”

Aziraphale gave him a troubled look. It was one often reserved for his drinking escapades with Crowley and one that the demon recognised almost immediately, returning it with his own challenging one, daring him to argue against what he believed to be a sound and solid stance. Even though he had already forgotten the words that had left his mouth.

“My dear,” he began, his voice soft but slurred from the large quantity of wine already in his system. He was slumped in his favourite armchair, typically reserved for time with an old classic (usually a first-edition Wilde) and a perfectly steamed cup of cocoa, but was now to be found with his coat and bowtie removed and a half-full glass of wine in his hand. “You are making positively no sense. We were discussing whether or not to visit young Adam next week to investigate the extent of his supernatural abilities now that the Apocalypse has been done with. What on earth does ‘gobbledegook’ have to do with that?”

Crowley threw himself down lazily on Aziraphale’s ancient sofa, the fabric groaning as he lounged, stretching out his ridiculously long legs to take up as much room as he possibly could. He tore his glasses off and threw them atop of the end table carelessly, clearly making himself at home.

It was important to know that since the End of the World the two gentlemen had spent a considerable amount of time together, or at least much more than they ever had for this length of time in the last six millennia of their lives. It was more Crowley’s doing than Aziraphale’s, who was always content to spend time alone with his books and other human pleasures he desired to indulge in, such as his favourite exotic foods and certain wines that had been long forgotten by human memories and taste buds alike but that he just so happened to have a case of squirrelled away in the back room.

It had always been Crowley who craved the comfort and warmth of others, as much as he would deny it to anyone who dared ask. It was he who dragged Aziraphale out of the bookshop to a new and interesting restaurant he had suddenly discovered on a whim or for a long walk through St. James’s Park.

His confidence in acting on these impulses to spend time with Aziraphale without an ulterior motive of ‘finding the Antichrist’ or ‘thwarting his evil plans’ was growing, more so now in the Rest of Their Lives than ever before, but still he was holding himself back. Still scared of allowing himself the vulnerability that came with honesty, no matter the benefits he might receive if he were to be put himself out there.

So far since the End of the World he had spent two nights passed out on Aziraphale’s sofa after an evening of revelry or after one of their passionate discussions, too tired to drive home to his own cold and empty flat, or at least that is what Aziraphale had been telling himself. Secretly, he was ecstatic to have Crowley in the little home he had created above the bookshop or to tag along with the demon on some odd adventure that he ‘just _had_ to come on,’ stating that he would explain his need for Aziraphale along the way but always managed to find someway to forget to share this information. He had never needed much persuasion or tempting to go along with one of Crowley’s plans, anyway, he just wanted to be close to him in whatever way he could find. For whatever reason.

“Angel,” Crowley hiccupped, spilling some wine on his slim-fitting black shirt, and miracling it away before Aziraphale could even process that it was there. “The gobbledegook! You know what I’m talking about, don’t act so stupid. Humans have been going on and on and on and on and on and on about absolute _bollocks_ for so bloody long and they should’ve stopped long ago. It was fine when they were just chatting about it, talking all that tosh around a fire or as they trudged through the as yet undiscovered world, but then they started writing it down. Pssh, that was when they started to lose the plot, if you ask me.”

“Fortunately for me, I did _not_ ask you. Now, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, my dear, but you are sat inside a bookshop with an avid reader who respects the written word and you know _full well_ that it is one of the simple pleasures in life that I adore without measure,” Aziraphale argued, rising to his feet to give further emphasis to his annoyance. He stamped in a manner that only Aziraphale could manage, barely moving and looking as though you had upset a child’s plaything. He was quite literally putting his foot down.

“A-ha!” Crowley exclaimed, jumping up from the sofa and lunging forward to enter the angel’s personal space, crowding him with his presence. “But there are plenty of books you wouldn’t dare touch with a barge pole, angel. Surely if you ‘adore without measure,’” he said in his typical mocking tone, “then this bookshop would be full of every text ever written in every language ever made. Admit it, humans are often dire at telling stories and their desire to immortalise them in the written word was a terrible mistake.”

“I would rather be discorporated on this very spot than admit something so preposterous, Crowley. I love _all_ books! Don’t be so obtuse.” Aziraphale argued, straightening himself up to stand his ground, aware from past experience that this stand off could go on for hours and hours if either were feeling stubborn enough.

“Then where are the E. L. James books?” Crowley wagered, stepping closer. His voice was low and threatening. He knew he had Aziraphale on the ropes now.

Their torsos were close, but not touching, and he could taste the sweet wine that lingered on Aziraphale’s breath. The dim lighting of the room caused Aziraphale’s pale blue eyes to glow angelically, the light giving his fiery passion another interpretation entirely and almost causing Crowley’s knees to give out under him from the sheer magnificent beauty of him.

This was not an unfamiliar feeling for Crowley; the sense that he might fall unconscious or that his carefully crafted defences would come tumbling down at a moment’s notice when Aziraphale looked at him in that way that felt like he had been Forgiven, that he was whole again. And if this were any other man standing before the demon one might assume this was mutually affectionate flirtation, something that he could feasibly act upon but alas, it was Aziraphale that stood mere inches from his face and therefore, an insane thought. At least to Crowley.

In the present, however, it was currently taking most of Crowley’s willpower to keep himself from doing something he was sure he would come to regret.

“This is a selective bookshop, Crowley. I only house first editions of very particular books and very particular genres, common _smut_ that exists in most households and charity shops to date does not fall under either category.”

Crowley snorted. This was it. He’d have him cornered. “Tell that to your vast collection of Oscar Wilde editions.”

Aziraphale’s face was a picture, if that picture were one that changed to a completely different one approximately every four seconds for exactly one minute and twenty-three seconds. Crowley was lapping up every second of it.

He watched the angel closely, following the adventure that his face went on like he did with an episode of his favourite television show. He was enthralled, transfixed on the minute movements of Aziraphale’s features and never wanted the journey it was on to end just so he had a passable excuse for staring at Aziraphale so adoringly.

He had always needed to be close to him, or at least sense his presence in the world to feel okay. It had calmed him in his darkest of moments and brought him back to normality on the rare occasion he felt he had gone too far, but ever since the End of the World and their peculiar adventures in each other’s bodies he felt empty whenever he was without the angel. As though there were something missing inside him, something key. It was as though he had Fallen all over again, the loss of his grace leaving an emptiness inside of him he had never quite been able to fill.

Aziraphale’s eyes darted from left to right, meticulously organising the thoughts that clouded his brain as he crafted the perfectly made argument that would decimate Crowley’s ridiculous stance. Crowley smiled, taking the opportunity to do so while so close to the angel, now that his attention was focussed somewhere else entirely. He was looking particularly awe-inspiring tonight, free of his coat and bowtie (practically naked in Aziraphale’s books) and it was… doing things to Crowley’s insides that he would rather they did not.

When he had finally formulated his argument, he huffed in a way that only Aziraphale could, a way in which Crowley could almost feel the angel’s wings ruffling behind him, and began.

“Oscar Wilde was a highly regarded writer for much of his career and a key contributor to the arts of the late-nineteenth century until he was tried for a ridiculous human notion that quite frankly need not be mentioned. I cannot _believe_ that you of _all_ people, Crowley, would dare to compare the–”

Aziraphale’s rant was cut short.

Nothing bad had happened, per se. At least not by Crowley’s standards, since it was he who had interrupted this well-crafted and perfectly delivered argument with his lips crashing into Aziraphale’s passionately, hands cupping his face. It took Aziraphale by surprise at first, as it would any sane being, supernatural or otherwise but the sensation was… nice.

Despite his rude and hasty interruption of Aziraphale’s speech, Crowley’s kiss was soft and gentle, innocent in its cautious nature, as though he was terrified of the moment shattering into a million pieces. Which he was. Absolutely petrified.

After the initial shock of the matter Aziraphale allowed himself to relax into the touch, eyes fluttering shut as he found himself kissing back, tentatively, until Crowley pulled back so abruptly that the angel was almost left wondering if he had imagined the entire thing. It would not have been the first time, of course, especially with so many bottles consumed. But this time felt so real.

Crowley was pressed up against a bookcase breathing heavily, eyes wide and… was that _fear_ in his eyes?

“I… I’m ssssssorry, Aziraphale. I shouldn’t have done that,” he said quietly. “I’m. I ssshould… I should go.” He made for the door, trying to escape the room as quickly as possible but was stopped by Aziraphale blocking his path and standing in the doorway defiantly. Fuck.

Crowley’s features were soft, his eyes wordlessly begging the angel to step aside and let him escape without further question. But unfortunately for Crowley, Aziraphale was not willing to fold this evening, an air of rebelliousness and carelessness about him that told Crowley that he was not going to stand down and would, for once in his life, face his emotions with Crowley head on.

“No,” he ordered, voice powerful and demanding. To both their surprise, Crowley obeyed. His shoulders went slack, as if his entire being had let out a century long held sigh and he grumbled disapprovingly as he stepped back from the doorway. Aziraphale softened his voice back to its usual gentle tone now that his friend was no longer heading for the nearest escape. “My dear fellow, whatever is the matter?”

“Angel,” Crowley begged, his voice strangled and dilated eyes focussed on the old floorboards beneath his feet. He cleared his throat. “I’m drunk. It’s not the first time I’ve accidentally kissssssed someone I shouldn’t’ve when I’m completely blattered, believe me. Just let me go home for somebody’s ssssake.”

Aziraphale closed the space between them suddenly and, eagerly seizing at the lapels of Crowley’s jacket, pulled him into another kiss, this time with him running the show. Crowley leaned into the touch without hesitation, hands returning to the sides of Aziraphale’s face, cupping his rosy cheeks softly, his fingers getting lost in his cloud-like curls.

Crowley grew in confidence as the moment continued, when Aziraphale proved that he would not break away at the slightest reciprocation as he had always feared. Soon their kiss moved from a chaste and innocent act into an open-mouthed, passionate thing, with Crowley slipping his snake-like tongue into his angel’s mouth, causing Aziraphale to moan approvingly.

Aziraphale unexpectedly pushed forward until Crowley collided with the overfilled bookcase behind him with such force that a signed first edition of E.M. Forster’s _A Room with a View_ came tumbling down, narrowly missing their feet. Crowley laughed into their kiss and kicked the book aside without another thought and Aziraphale suddenly pulled away, much to Crowley’s disappointment.

“Mm,” he groaned in annoyance as he attempted to pull Aziraphale back into the moment, failing miserably now that his attention was on something else entirely. Something that, arguably, had just as much control over Aziraphale’s heart as the demon did.

Aziraphale stepped away to retrieve the abandoned book that had been kicked aside, bending down to pick it up and examine it for any immediately obvious damage obtained from the fall and the rude kicking it had endured.

“Crowley, I…” he sighed, a small frown forming as his brows knitted together. “I am all for getting lost in the fits of passion, my dear fellow, but kicking one of my beloved books? _Really_?”

“Oh, I _do_ apologise, angel. Why did I not think of the absurdity of my nudging a book out of the way? I should have just let us trip on it, that would have made _much_ more sense.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Don’t be so obstinate, Crowley. You are well aware that my books are everything to me,” Aziraphale reasoned as he placed the book down on the end table delicately, running a hand over the cover. Crowley swayed on the spot, his absurdly long limbs looking even more precarious than usual the longer the moment dragged on, much like an old building in high winds soon scheduled for demolishing.

He was about to argue further, Aziraphale just knew it, and so braced himself accordingly, ready to receive a barrage of ridiculous comments to support his equally ridiculous argument. But it did not come.

“Right,” Crowley grunted, shoving his hands deep into the small, constricting pockets of his skin-tight jeans and avoiding Aziraphale’s soft eyes. “Sorry, yes. Well, then, what, uh, what now? Not entirely sure on proper protocol here, angel.”

“I…” Aziraphale stammered, straightening his waistcoat and taking his time in dealing with the matter in his head before daring say anything aloud. The tension between the two men grew steadily, neither willing to be the first to break the silence.

That is until Crowley finally bit the bullet and sauntered over to the sofa, grumbling incoherently as he moved, before finally collapsing down on the plush fabric and grabbing a half-empty wine bottle from the floor. He took a long swig from bottle while Aziraphale stood watching him incredulously.

“What on earth are you doing?” he asked.

“I, angel, am going to consume copious amounts of alcohol. Quite _extraordinary_ amounts, so much so that I forget whatever the Hell just happened there so we can move on like the civil supernatural entities that have been friends for millennia that we are,” Crowley wagered. He held the now considerably emptier bottle out toward Aziraphale, extending an olive branch of sorts. “Care to join me?”

Aziraphale debated this offer for a moment. Well, that is what it had looked like to Crowley, when in actuality he had been thinking along a similar train of thought and was now simply buying time to keep up appearances.

“I don’t see why not,” Aziraphale finally conceded, taking the bottle from him and filling his glass back up before settling back into his comfortable armchair once more.

The two had now been drinking for just shy of eight hours.

If they had been human this particular evening would have ended dreadfully many, many hours ago, but the angel and demon were still going strong. Perhaps strong was the wrong word to use here. They were… conscious, able to speak (albeit in a somewhat slurred manner), able to form a relatively coherent thought and deliver it with some success which they often could not do while sober, and, to an extent, they were aware of their surroundings.

Crowley had somehow found his way onto the floor by now and was comfortably situated (at least to him it was comfortable, however to the untrained eye it looked most uncomfortable) at the foot of Aziraphale’s armchair, arm propped up on the angel’s knee as he listened to him wax lyrical about one of his favourite novels.

“Angel, have you,” he burped, and took another sip from his glass. “Have you ever had sex?”

“Go. That’s a little forward, don’t you think? What on earth has brought about that curiosity?” Aziraphale asked, furrowing his brow.

Of course he had. It was a human pleasure after all and he was to be living amongst them, plus, Aziraphale had always had a soft spot for indulging in human activities; those who thought those pleasures merely ended at food and drink drastically underestimated him. Especially when one was to consider that he had spent a considerable number of years working alongside the likes of Shakespeare, Oscar Wilde, and a memorable summer with at least one member of the royal family who shall, to this day, remain nameless.

Crowley shrugged and grumbled, picking absentmindedly at a loose woodchip on the edge of the coffee table as he spoke. “Eh, I’m jusssst curious. Have you?”

“Well, yes. Of course, my dear. It is, after all, a human experience and I must say that I have rarely shied from the pleasures they have so passionately created before. I didn’t see any difference in that one and so surveyed it myself.”

Now, it must be noted here that in this precise moment Crowley was shocked, to put it lightly. A more accurate description would be that every fibre of his physical being felt as though it was internally exploding all at once and his mind was short-circuiting in a fashion that would have put the first man-made computer to shame. He felt as though one of the stars he had so carefully crafted back in his angel days was now imploding inside his chest.

But back to the matter at hand.

“Oh,” he muttered, barely a whisper passing his lips.

Aziraphale shifted in his chair uncomfortably, concerned over the question he desperately wanted to follow up with. He decided that he was drunk enough to take a leap of faith. “Have you?”

Crowley spluttered, a stream of incoherent sounds escaping his throat as he fumbled for the right words to say. “N… n-no,” he finally settled on. Before adding, “I’ve had my fair ssssshare of opportunities and offers through the years, don’t get me wrong, angel, but I… I could never go through with it. I suppose I was stupidly holding out for the right one.”

Aziraphale considered Crowley’s words carefully.

“Angel,” he implored, turning around and sitting up to face him, resting his chin on the armrest of Aziraphale’s chair. “What is it like?”

“The act of lovemaking?”

“For Heaven’s sake, Aziraphale, just call it bloody sex like the rest of the world,” he snapped.

“That’s mighty rich coming from someone who has never engaged in such an act,” he snapped back, the words leaving his lips before he could consider their weight. Crowley shot him a disapproving look and Aziraphale suddenly felt as though he had ruined the already dangerously fragile moment.

He placed a hand tentatively on Crowley’s forearm and softened his gaze. Crowley’s eyes shot wide open at the touch and his cheeks began to turn a crimson red. “I’m sorry, my dear. I… I forgot myself. It… it is difficult to explain.”

“I’ve witnessed the act many times, you know, _Rome_ , for starters so I know the mechanics of it. Jussssst,” he cleared his throat, hoping to miracle away the nervous stutter. “How does it _feel_ , angel.”

“I believe that Shakespeare once said that –”

Crowley cut him off abruptly, raising his voice without warning. “I do not want a quote from one of your books, angel! I want to _know_. How…” he took a deep breath, centering himself and making a conscious effort to lower and soften his voice. “How does it feel to have someone love you so deeply that you lose yourself in their body and not know where you end or they begin?”

Aziraphale paused, before whispering. “I… I do not think I can put that into words. However, I,” he gulped, the words catching in his throat. “I love _you_ in such a way, my dear, and would be willing to… to show you such a pleasure. If you would be willing.”

Crowley’s mouth fell open. Was he dreaming? Had Aziraphale just propositioned him with sex after all these years? And all it had taken was a simple question after consuming much too much wine?

Before Crowley could answer any of these questions with a sense of clarity Aziraphale’s lips were on his, a hand cupping his face and dragging him in closer. He willingly complied, getting to his feet and allowing himself to be pulled into Aziraphale’s lap while he kissed the angel back fervently, desperate for the taste.

Aziraphale held him close, a hand snaking around Crowley’s torso to hold him close, letting him know without words that he was safe in his arms and could do no wrong here. Not with him.

Crowley positioned himself comfortably on Aziraphale’s lap, careful not to hurt him with his general boniness, now hyperaware of how soft and gentle his angel felt up close. His lips never broke from the angels’ own as he began to furiously work at unbuttoning the worn and ancient buttons of Aziraphale’s waistcoat.

Aziraphale’s free hand gently caressed Crowley’s thigh, his plump fingers pressing into the fabric just so, causing the demons breath to hitch in his throat as he let out a soft moan, close to physically melting in the hold of the angel’s touch. He was well aware just how much he had craved this moment over the last six-thousand years, how much he had imagined it when all he needed to survive a while longer was a sliver of hope but he had never imagined how much he would lose his cool from a few simple, gentle touches. Pathetic.

After taking close to five minutes to unfasten two of Aziraphale’s waistcoat buttons, Crowley became increasingly more irate. He snapped his fingers, miracling them undone and began to work on the more modern, and significantly less challenging, buttons of his pale blue dress shirt.

Beneath this, unbeknownst to Crowley at this particular moment in time, Aziraphale was wearing a white t-shirt and beneath _that_ a white vest. He would soon discover these once he had managed to pry the other layers off the angel when they began to move to the bedroom, and would feign (terribly, one might add) that he was not in the slightest bit annoyed at how meticulously covered Aziraphale’s body was.

It had reminded him of a children’s party game ‘Pass the Parcel’ with a grand prize in the centre for the lucky winner. When he eventually realised that the grand prize awaiting him was Aziraphale in all his beautiful glory, his annoyance subsided somewhat.

Once all buttons were undone and Crowley’s jacket had somehow miraculously found its way to the floor, Crowley dared to move his lips from Aziraphale’s, taking root at his neck, nuzzling at the soft, warm flesh as he kissed it lovingly.

“Oh,” Aziraphale uttered softly, throwing his head back to give the demon more space to work with. Crowley took this opportunity to suck gently at the smooth and sensitive skin there, leaving a trail of soft pink and purple bruises in his wake, and causing broken moans to escape the angel’s throat.

“Oh Crowley, I adore you,” Aziraphale whispered into Crowley’s hair as he slowly slithered further down his torso, kissing the angel’s still covered chest and stomach as he went before eventually moving to the floor. “You are simply magnificent.”

He finally raised his head once he was situated comfortably between Aziraphale’s legs, a hand on each strong yet pudgy thigh, grounding himself as he looked up at the angel before him. From down here, a coveted spot he had yearned to be in since the dawn of time, the soft glow of Aziraphale’s lighting emphasised his angelic features, causing his soft, blond curls to shine like the Heavens themselves.

If Crowley were human, he liked to think he would have begged for mercy and forgiveness right there and then, just as he had done for God’s grace for so long after the Fall. He could not stop himself from smiling up at the angel in front of him now, unable to believe that a creature such as he was worthy of being loved by such a wonderful being.

Crowley unclipped Aziraphale’s suspenders and gently shifted his trousers down his thighs, out of his way. His hands were shaking, unable to comprehend how any of this was actually happening and Aziraphale’s eyes followed his every move intently.

Aziraphale reached forward and cupped Crowley’s cheek, tenderly stroking Crowley’s cheekbone with his thumb. Crowley’s features softened as he leaned into the angel’s palm, relishing in the tenderness of the touch.

“I love you,” Aziraphale whispered in a tone as soft as the whitest of clouds. The words were so utterly quiet as they left his lips, only meant for those they were directed at and therefore only loud enough for his ears.

Crowley closed his eyes and shook his head minutely, barely detectable, as if shaking off the words from his skin. “Shut up,” he groaned, intending it to sound as casual as he usually did but missing the mark by approximately 3.2 miles.

The demon sat up and leaned forward to kiss him on the lips, still revelling in the sweet taste the angel’s lips held before jumping off the deep end of his courage and gingerly brushing a forefinger over Aziraphale’s crotch.

The angel yelped in shock, eyes going wide as he jumped back, accidentally breaking their kiss and the moment. “Ah,” he uttered, guiltily.

Crowley cocked an eyebrow inquisitively, suddenly brought crashing back down to earth. “I thought you had done this before, angel.”

“I _have_ , my dear, but it has been a while since anyone… well,” Aziraphale blushed apologetically. “You really have no obligation to do… _that_ , Crowley. I don’t want to pressure you into feeling as though you must. Since you are somewhat of a novice.”

Crowley sat back on his heels and snorted. “I may be a bloody virgin, Aziraphale, but I’ve done my fair exploring of other things of that nature. My skills have been praised quite highly, if I do say so myself.”

“Well, I…” Aziraphale was cut short by Crowley’s soft lips pressing against his own once again.

“Shh, I want to please you, angel. I want to make you feel as good as you’ve made me feel all these years,” Crowley whispered, brushing his fingers along the bulge hidden within Aziraphale’s underwear. He pulled them aside suddenly and seized it with his hand, surveying it and taking mental note of every bit of information available to him so that he could forever burn this evening into his memory.

Aziraphale was not particularly well-endowed so to speak, although Crowley did not have much to compare the angel to, but what Aziraphale did have he was proud of. That is not to say that he was small, rather he was perfectly average, rounding to the exact average length of a British man’s penis to the third decimal place based on national statistics he had stumbled upon when he had first broached the idea of getting one. He had made some modifications since then, changing it to suit how he was feeling that particular century or so, but this one had done him nicely for the last one hundred and seven three years. Not that he had gotten much use out of it in that time – all too hung up on a particular demon he felt he had zero chance with.

Crowley held it upright, delicately running his thumb along the underside of the shaft, slowly but surely. He, too, had not done much with one of these in quite some time (a good forty-six years, give or take) and needed to take things slowly to make sure he gave Aziraphale the best experience he could manage. He could sense the angel’s eyes boring into the top of his head and daren’t look up to meet them, terrified that he might shatter into a million pieces if he did and so he got to work.

His snake-like tongue darted between his lips and swirled tauntingly around the tip, gaining a shudder and soft moan from Aziraphale. Crowley smiled, satisfied. The angel had now thrown his head back to rest against the back of the armchair, screwed his eyes shut, and was currently biting down on his bottom lip to maintain some fragment of decorum.

Crowley ran his tongue from the base of Aziraphale’s cock all the way to the tip, warranting a satisfied whimper from the angel, before he wrapped his lips around the head and took him all in.

“OH!” Aziraphale gasped, back arching and eyes shooting open at the sudden sensation that sent waves of pleasure through him. His body returned to its slack, relaxed state after a few moments and it was then that the demon continued. “Oh, Crowley,” he sighed lovingly.

“Mm,” Crowley hummed in response, mouth too full and preoccupied to form anything else of worth. Apparently this was the right thing to do since it warranted a small whine to escape Aziraphale’s lips and so Crowley continued, humming contentedly when he deigned appropriate.

He stole a glance up at the whimpering angel as he slipped the cock seamlessly out of his mouth and kissed the tip in adoration, simply to take a moment to capture how he was finally making Aziraphale feel. Finally, after all these years.

Aziraphale looked down, pursing his lips as he eyed the demon with curiosity, unsure of why he had stopped what he was doing. He extended a hand, took Crowley’s spare one in his own, raised it to his lips and kissed the tanned, worn knuckles with fondness.

“I love you so much, Crowley,” he whispered against his skin. Crowley blushed so dark a red Aziraphale had feared he was going to burst a blood vessel or ten on the spot, but instead he resumed to the matter at hand, capturing up the angel’s cock in his mouth once more.

Crowley had had mixed emotions about his tongue throughout his existence, often opting to make the effort to have it resemble something more human and ‘normal’ but here and now, with Aziraphale, all sense of shame was thrown out the window. It was a particularly lovely added bonus that his snake-like tongue was driving Aziraphale insane, wrapping around the shaft and coiling back as he lifted his head to lap over the tip.

Aziraphale slipped his free hand into Crowley’s hair, threading his fingers in amongst the soft red locks, as he tenderly kissed the demon’s hand still wrapped up in his own. Any tension left in the demon’s body dissolved immediately at the gentle touches he was now being showered with, and it was as though his entire body had let out a long-held sigh.

Aziraphale littered Crowley’s knuckles with kisses, desperate to show his love and affection without words. They never had need for words, instead electing to show their devotion to one another through actions over the years, and it would be his saving grace now. He pried one of Crowley’s fingers from his grasp and slipped it past his lips, before mimicking, as best he could, what was being done to him.

A small choking sound escaped Crowley’s throat in surprise and he pulled away, coughing.

“Oh, my goodness, Crowley–” Aziraphale panicked, suddenly switching his thinking brain on again. He grasped at the demon, lifting his face to look at him closely. “Are you okay? What can I do?”

Crowley cleared his throat and shooed Aziraphale’s hands off him. “I’m fine, angel. You’re being overdramatic. You just… took me by surprise is all.”

“My apologies, Crowley,” whispered Aziraphale, his eyes soft as he gazed adoringly at the demon between his legs.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

And with that he resumed his work, determined to show his angel just how much he cared about him, how much he worshipped the ground Aziraphale walked on, just how good he had made Crowley feel for the past six millennia, give or take a few years.

As a small insight into the future, dear reader, Crowley would unfortunately never accomplish this feat. This was not from lack of trying, not at all. He tried to convey this love and adoration to Aziraphale every single day of the rest of their existences, but he would never come close to achieving that initial goal. Aziraphale was more than happy to receive such attention, however, often finding himself feeling overwhelmed by such kind acts of kindness from his best friend, but Crowley never ceased trying; determined until the very end.

“You are so good to me, Crowley. I,” his breathing stuttered. “I don’t know what I would have done if the world had ended. If– you’re so kind. I adore you, I…” without hesitation Crowley did something truly magical with his mouth that to this day Aziraphale is unable and unwilling to put into words and throwing his head back, exclaimed: “Oh, good lord.”

Crowley chuckled, causing his throat to vibrate and for Aziraphale's hips to involuntarily buck upward, catching Crowley off guard and causing a small choking sound to escape his throat yet again. He refused to react, instead holding Aziraphale in place via a carefully placed hand on his soft belly and another on his, equally soft, thigh and bobbed his head contentedly to prove that he was fine (more than fine, really–ecstatic) and continued.

As Crowley worked, Aziraphale’s compliments and sweet utterances increased, more and more so as he got progressively worked up, lost in the sensation entirely. One of his hands had found its way back into Crowley’s silky, luscious hair and another had clasped itself over Crowley’s own on his stomach, squeezing with approval whenever the demon did something particularly pleasant.

w“Oh, heavens!” Aziraphale cried suddenly, tightening his grip on Crowley’s hand as he felt his orgasm welling in the pit of his gut and quickly gaining traction. His body wiggled, unsure of itself in this long-forgotten sensation. It wasn’t that his body was trying to escape the moment, far from it, it was just that it couldn’t bear the anticipation, the reality of it actually happening.

“C –Crowley, I…” he whimpered. “S-Stop. Stop, I’m going to c-c….” he trailed off, unable to form the words past the litany of moans that poured from his throat like a broken water-pipe, unrelenting and unending.

Crowley removed his lips from Aziraphale for a second to speak and replaced them with his hand. His eyes were wide, with just a sliver of yellow visible past the dilated pupils, but he kept them low and away from Aziraphale’s gaze.

“It’s okay, angel. Do it,” he whispered, and with that his lips were back on him.

If anyone were to walk past the bookshop at this precise moment, which coincidentally two young women were, they would have heard something along the lines of Aziraphale proudly proclaiming, “ _Ahhhh!_ ” which to their unknowing ears they mistook for a middle-aged gentleman singing two particular notes with gusto to himself in his flat. When in actuality, an angel was loudly moaning as he came with quite some force into the mouth of a demon, who was extremely happy with himself at the matter.

Crowley, once satisfied that Aziraphale was quite done, pulled away and settled back on his heels, panting heavily as he caught his breath. He snapped his fingers, ridding the last remnants from his mouth; he truly hated the taste, as he was assured most humans did. One of their worse parts, but he was always perfectly happy until that part.

He stole a glance at Aziraphale, who was looking equally as flushed, arms draped over the plush armrests of his chair as steadied himself. His nerves were on fire, electric shocks running through him as he rode the waves of his ebbing orgasm. Crowley smiled at the sight of him, angelic to a tee despite his rather dishevelled appearance right now.

“Well. Right,” Crowley coughed awkwardly, standing up and running a hand through his untidy hair to return it to its perfectly constructed messy fashion instead. He grabbed his previously discarded glass of wine from where he had left it and took a large gulp–anything to fill the air.

Aziraphale covered himself and stood up, equally unsure of himself now that he had come down from his brief euphoria. He placed a gentle hand on Crowley’s upper arm, indicating to the demon that he wanted him to turn and face him.

Crowley relented and placed the glass back down before spinning around to face his angel, careful to hide his emotions behind his usually well-practised mask, but this was unfamiliar territory and his eyes were giving him away. He knew it.

Aziraphale cupped Crowley’s face and kissed him tenderly, soft at first as if to say thank you for his previously selfless act but there was something more entirely in that initial touch. After a moment Crowley’s lips turned to their typical snarl and he pulled away shaking his head.

“Y-you don’t have to, Aziraphale,” he croaked. “I…”

“Ssh, my dear,” his voice quiet and calculated. “You deserve the _world_ , Crowley. If you wish for me to stop then I shall, but you wanted to know what it felt to be loved in every sense of the word, and I have every intention of showing you.”

“Shut up,” Crowley grumbled before kissing him gently and shifting closer to press their bodies together; a simple touch that he hoped told Aziraphale just how much he wanted to know him, but that he was scared. Terrified, in fact.

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around him, resting a palm in the small of Crowley’s back while the other settled somewhere between his shoulder blades, fingers exploring where his wings extended from in his original form. Crowley moaned tenderly into his mouth, desperate just to be held, to be loved. He wanted comfort more than anything, from the one man he never felt he deserved it from but here he was, standing in a flat above a bookshop in Soho in the embrace of his angel.

Aziraphale slid his hands slowly down Crowley’s back until they landed comfortably on the small arch of the demon’s buttocks, pulling him in closer. Crowley sighed as their bodies slotted together perfectly, happy to do whatever Aziraphale asked as long as it meant he could stay just here forever.

Aziraphale had always been his opposite, in any way the word demanded, be it their inherently juxtaposed beginnings and their staunchly opposite sides of Heaven and Hell originally, now Crowley could slot a physical sense into that mental definition he housed. Aziraphale was all soft curves in the places where Crowley had sharp, unwelcoming angles. If he had come to this realisation in any other moment of his existence, he most likely would have hidden himself away and slept for the better part of a century, much like he did after their heated argument in the 1860s. But here? Now? It felt right.

Crowley eventually responded once he had gotten his bearings and gotten over the initial shock of Aziraphale holding him just as he had always dreamed of, of Aziraphale slipping his tongue past Crowley’s lips and lapping up the taste of wine and desire that lingered on the demon’s breath, and of Aziraphale genuinely, actually reciprocating all of these feelings after so long.

He pushed the waistcoat off Aziraphale’s shoulders and threw it over the back of the chair nearest to them, then did the same with the angel’s pale blue shirt that he had luckily unbuttoned in their earlier endeavours. He was less careful in his discarding of the shirt, as it was undoubtedly not as prized a possession to Aziraphale as his beloved (and ancient) coat and jacket and books, and so Crowley took the little liberties where he could.

Aziraphale slipped a hand between them and deftly unbuckled Crowley’s snake-headed belt and trousers before slipping his hands below the hem of his absurdly tight jeans and taking a handful of his ass in hand. Crowley groaned softly and wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, pulling him in closer to stop himself from falling.

Aziraphale chuckled softly at the demon’s reaction, his chest rumbling and echoing through Crowley’s fragile frame as he slipped a hand along the cleft of his ass and gingerly passed a finger over his hole. Crowley thought his knees would collapse from under him at that very moment, and it must have been the work of a divine miracle that kept him standing with any confidence.

“Ah, a-angel,” he stuttered, pressing his forehead against Aziraphale’s as he caught his breath. Aziraphale removed one hand from Crowley’s trousers to cup his face, running a thumb soothingly over his demon’s cheekbone as he continued to tease him with what was to come.

“I love you so very much, my dear,” he whispered.

Crowley squeezed his eyes tightly shut in embarrassment, and hissed, “Ssssshut up, angel.”

“You’re such a good person, Crowley. So good for me, _to_ me. You have always greatly underestimated how truly wonderful you are. I want to show you how much you mean to me, my dear, I–” Aziraphale had been progressively, and unconsciously, pushing them backwards until suddenly they collided with the fireplace with a _thump_.

Crowley suddenly lost his footing, slipping on a pile of ashes that Aziraphale had forgotten to clear up earlier in the evening. He scrambled to grab a hold of something to stop himself from falling flat on his arse. As he felt himself fall away to the unknown abyss of the fireplace, dragging Aziraphale along for the ride, he suddenly found himself slying on the angel’s bed, with said angel carefully positioned between his legs. Both of them had also, strangely, lost all of their clothes shy of their underwear… and Crowley’s tie. How peculiar.

“H-how…” Crowley managed to mumble as he rubbed at his temples and inspected his now mostly naked figure. His head was pounding too furiously at present to even consider taking note of Aziraphale’s body, reserving that pleasure for when he was fit of mind.

“Apologies, I think I got a little,” Aziraphale cleared his throat. “A little carried away, my dear fellow. I didn’t particularly wish to battle with your absurd trousers later on so figured I would, well. I hope that’s alright.”

“It’s fine, angel,” he grunted. “My head is spinning; I need to sober up before I do anything more.”

“Jolly good idea. Yes. Probably for the best.” Aziraphale nodded encouragingly and sat up, shutting his eyes to will the alcohol from his system quietly, while Crowley took a deep breath and strained loudly until he was confident that the majority of the wine in him had safely returned to the bottles strewn about the living room.

Crowley overdramatically stuck out his tongue and groaned uncomfortably; he had always despised the after taste of that particular little trick, whereas Aziraphale elected to open and close his mouth a few times relatively quietly until the taste had subsided.

It was then that Aziraphale realised he had not yet taken a moment to soak in the reality of what was happening and so he did just that. Crowley, lying there practically naked on Aziraphale’s bed with all his so-called imperfections, hair splayed every direction possible on the pillow, and pulling an utterly ridiculous face as he rid the taste from his mouth. His chest was slim, so much so that Aziraphale could make out the faint outlines of his ribs whenever he sucked in a sharp breath.

He looked so small and perfect here in Aziraphale’s eyes, surrounded by the plush fabrics he elected to cover his bed with. The demon stuck out like a sore thumb, red hair, tanned skin, bright yellow eyes that looked like the stars themselves, and his lithe figure. He was so different to Aziraphale–shockingly so. Before Aziraphale could spiral any further, Crowley’s attention returned to him.

“Right. Where were we?” he asked sarcastically.

Aziraphale smiled sweetly, his cheeks blushing a rosy pink and his eyes lighting up at the opportunity to return their previous activities. “I believe I was in the middle of telling you just how much I love you, my dear.”

“Oh. No, angel, you…” his complaints were silenced by Aziraphale leaning in and kissing him as if it were his favourite activity in all the world–which coincidentally, it was, narrowly beating out both sushi and a good book, but he would never dare admit that. “Mm.”

Aziraphale gently slipped a hand beneath Crowley, placing it in the small of his back causing the demon to arch up and press their torsos together. His arms slithered down Aziraphale’s torso before finally settling on his hips as he wrapped a leg around one of the angel’s, noting how soft and lush it felt.

They were a mess of limbs, not able to get enough of each other quickly enough but Aziraphale was determined to take his time, to ease Crowley into the experience of his first time. He had no idea how much the demon had dipped his toe into this particular human experience and, having been satisfied once already this evening, did not mind going at a slower pace. It allowed him to lap up every second he could collect.

Aziraphale slid his hand out from under Crowley and held him securely by the waist, running a thumb over his bottom rib gently, careful not to hurt his friend. He was biding his time, until he was certain that Crowley was comfortable and ready for him to move forward, as much as he wanted to now.

“Ngh, ‘zira,” he breathed as he dug his fingertips into the angel’s hips. Aziraphale smiled at the new nickname he had apparently just earned and took that as his signal to proceed.

The angel slid his hand between them, moving slowly before he slipped it beneath the hem of Crowley’s underwear, and ran his fingertips delicately over the demon’s erection.

“ _Oh, angel_ –” he cried, arching his back off the bed as Aziraphale wrapped his hand around him and began to stroke his length. Aziraphale smiled against his lips, unashamedly proud of the effect he was clearly having on the demon and so decided to move his hand lower.

Crowley shifted to allow for a more comfortable position for Aziraphale, who’s hand was now miraculously slicked. He circled the hole with his middle finger, eliciting a series of broken cries to fall from Crowley’s lips.

“You ready?”

Crowley’s eyes were shut tight as he nodded in desperation. Aziraphale kissed him softly and pushed forward, careful not to give too much too quickly and scare him off before it had even begun.

Crowley bit down on his bottom lip and whimpered as he dug his fingers deeper into Aziraphale’s hips, pulling him closer. He writhed beneath Aziraphale, making sounds he didn’t even know were passing his lips as he lost himself in the sensation of his angel finally inside of him.

Aziraphale was slowly working him open one finger at a time, adding a second once he was certain he could take it, and then a third, each one eliciting a new sound that came tumbling uncontrollably from the demon’s throat. He watched Crowley intently as he fingered him, fascinated by the expressions on his face, particularly enjoying the one that passed his features whenever he brushed past the prostate.

“ _Ah_ , Azzz… oh,” Crowley whined, seeking out his angle’s lips like a man stranded in the desert desperate for water. “’Ziraphale, I…”

Aziraphale complied, leaning up to capture Crowley’s lips in his own. He groaned, his body relaxing at the cooling, gentle touch that soothed while the rest of his body felt as though it was doused in hellfire; his nerves were firing off at the overwhelming sensations clouding any bit of judgement he ever possessed. He tangled his fingers up in Aziraphale’s fluffy, golden hair, holding him close to ground himself when he felt as though he might fall off the edge of the earth.

“Angel, I need you… I,” he stuttered, voice strained and vulnerable.

Aziraphale showered him with kisses as he continued to finger him, slow and steady. He kissed along Crowley’s jaw, down his neck, his collar bone, and chest, whispering sweet nothings against his skin as he did so, “I’ve got you. I’m here, dearest. You’re so beautiful, Crowley. Such a perfect specimen. I’ve loved you since I first laid eyes on you, you have no idea… Your lips, your eyes, your laugh, your smile, your body, your unending kindness, the list never ends,” before returning to the demon’s lips passionately.

“I need you in me, Aziraphale,” he finally choked out.

This was apparently all Aziraphale needed to hear to move forward, pulling his fingers out and hurriedly working to remove Crowley’s underpants before tossing them aside carelessly. He sat back on his heels between Crowley’s legs after removing his own and to put on the condom he had just miracled into existence.

Crowley snorted from the pillows. “Your underpants are truly terrible, angel.”

“They serve their purpose,” Aziraphale argued as he tore the foil packet open.

“If their purpose is to repulse anyone who sees them. They are _so_ unattractive, Zira,” smiled Crowley, returning to his typical sarcastic, irksome self now that he was not preoccupied with Aziraphale’s touch for a few moments.

He was of course, referring to the old, off-white pair of y-fronts Aziraphale had been sporting this evening–a style that Crowley hadn’t seen on a man since at least the nineties, and wished that that timespan had continued much, much longer (preferably until the end of time) but here he was.

“You say that, and yet here you are; naked and in my bed. I could stop if you would prefer.”

Crowley cocked an eyebrow and smirked at him until Aziraphale folded and smiled that angelic, toothy smile that drove Crowley crazy, the smile that put the stars to shame. Once he was all prepared, he lined himself up.

“Ready?” he asked.

Crowley took a deep, shaky breath and nodded. Aziraphale placed a hand on Crowley’s thigh and ran his thumb in circles to soothe the both of them. While it may have been Crowley’s first time exploring any of this, Aziraphale’s fear levels were considerably higher than they had ever been in similar situations of the past; he needed calming just as much as the other.

Without a second thought he pushed forward slowly, Crowley humming his way through the odd sensation as Aziraphale edged further in still until he was flush against him. Crowley had never felt more complete.

“All okay?” Aziraphale asked.

“Yes, shut up,” Crowley hissed, desperate for Aziraphale to continue, to _move_ , to do _something_. He was dangerously close to begging him for more when the angel seemed to get the message and began to thrust, slowly at first, sure to get his footing but with added confidence and determination with each move.

“Goodness, Crowley,” Aziraphale moaned as he bottomed out, staying there for a moment to soak up the sensation of himself filling up _his_ demon, of Crowley’s warmth enveloping him, his legs wrapped around Aziraphale’s middle as he rocked back and forth in time with his thrusts.

If Crowley had never told him that he was a virgin, Aziraphale would have been none the wiser; he was a _very_ quick learner. Or perhaps, he wondered incorrectly, Crowley had lied to get him into bed, perhaps this was all a fantastical ruse. While he was wrong about this, Aziraphale did not particularly care at this moment in time, instead lost in the wonders of Crowley’s body, his warmth, his touch, his everything.

“A-Angel…” Crowley began breathlessly. Aziraphale sensed a request coming, picking up on the minor lilt at the end of the word, and slowed down to give Crowley time to get out the rest of his sentence. “I, could I… could I ride you?”

Aziraphale stopped dead, eyes now wide and glossed over in his shock. He was not sure if he had ever felt this stunned in all his life; no experience in his entire existence on earth or in heaven could have prepared him for this moment. Crowley watched him cautiously. Was that not an okay thing to ask?

“Aziraphale?” he eventually broached after at least twenty seconds of straight silence.

“Hmm? Yes?” Aziraphale responded as though Crowley had just asked him if he wanted a fresh cup of cocoa while he was in between two chapters of a new book. “Sorry, would you mind repeating that, my dear?”

“I said, I want to go on top. Isss that alright?”

“O-Of course. Yes, uh,” Aziraphale promptly removed himself from Crowley and positioned himself on his back, next to where Crowley had been laying.

Crowley gulped; all pretence of confidence shed from his body now. He straddled Aziraphale and took in the sight of him as he settled himself down in his angel’s lap, getting used to the position before taking Aziraphale’s cock in hand and slowly put it back in.

He slid down the length of it until it was flush in his ass once more and moaned deep as the sensation of being full and whole washed over him. Aziraphale’s hands were placed gently but securely on Crowley’s thighs, grounding him as he began to move tentatively up and down, shuddering suddenly whenever it hit him just right.

Crowley placed his hands over Aziraphale’s, holding them tight as his confidence grew and he rode with more certainty. As he got more comfortable in himself, he leaned forward, pressing his hands into the softness of Aziraphale’s belly, relishing in how smooth and gentle he felt, all curves and kindness.

He watched Aziraphale’s body move as he did, his body shaking wherever he touched, his own movements mirrored in him, and he particularly relished in how his cock looked now pressed against Aziraphale’s plump stomach, rutting against the dough-like tenderness of him as he rocked back and forth, hitting just the right spot.

Prior to going into this he knew that he loved Aziraphale, but it was in this very moment that he came to realisation that it was in a way that could never be put into words. That words would never be enough for them; they never had been. He had spent an eternity showing Aziraphale how much he loved and cared for him through actions–a little miracle here, a small favour there, an open invitation to a new restaurant he knew his angel had been meaning to try, and he would never cease.

“Crowley, I love you so much, my–”

“Sssstop being so nice, _please_.” Crowley interrupted, growling low in his throat as he shook his head, as though shaking the adoring words off.

Aziraphale wasn’t sure he _could_ stop being nice, surely it was part of an angel’s job description, as much as not being Forgiven was in a demon’s. He was unsure of himself. Sure, he had insulted Crowley from time to time in the past, and had, some might say, threatened – although he much preferred the term _expertly persuaded_ – certain unfavourable members of society who had dared enter his bookshop and threaten his beloved books. But to hurt Crowley’s feelings intentionally? To go into a sentence with the ulterior motive to upset and to hurt him?

He wasn’t quite sure that he could.

He wondered, eventually, that there was always the possibility that he could take it all back once they had finished here, if Crowley were to stay the night. Yes. That would have to do. If Crowley didn’t want to hear sweet nothings whispered into the darkness to him then Aziraphale would give him what he wanted and delay his loving instincts.

Without hesitation Aziraphale grabbed hold of the tie still wrapped around Crowley’s neck and pulled sharply, causing the demon to lurch forward in an unnerving fashion and yelp with shock. His eyes hardened, some of his usual hard exterior coming back to him at the sudden sign of aggression, ready to defend himself.

“What was that for?” he snapped.

“You don’t wish to hear how much I love you, fine. So be it, I’ll tell you the worst things I can think of,” Aziraphale stated, his voice harsh and uncharacteristically unnerving. His blue eyes turned dark as he gulped nervously. “A-At your core you are truly evil, not worthy of forgiveness from me, or even God Herself. You deserved to fall, Crowley. You all did, and shall never receive the forgiveness you so clearly crave.”

“Fuck, angel,” Crowley whined, resting his head on Aziraphale’s chest as he soaked in the insults that the angel threw his way; everything true, everything he had heard and felt before. That was the problem with giving your heart and soul and _being_ to someone who had known you for six thousand years; they had all the right ammo and knew exactly where to strike. “I, argh, _fuck_.”

Aziraphale thrust rhythmically upward, now that Crowley seemed incapable of moving at the sudden change in tune. “Demons are not capable of love. You are a vile creature, a snake, something that cannot be trusted. It was you, my dear, who threatened Her greatest creation and deceived the humans into leaving the garden. It was you who created chaos and destruction spanning millennia. How horrible.”

“Ah, Christ! More,” Crowley keened, begging for Aziraphale to continue. He needed this; needed to hear every insult Aziraphale could muster, hear everything that he knew he truly deserved deep down.

“Y-You are a foul fiend, Crowley. A wily adversary creating endless disruption to my existence. I mean, for goodness sake, you _lost_ the Antichrist and proceeded to make the End of the World truly frustrating. I have never met a more obstinate man,” he panted, running out of things to say and out of breath to say them with. Crowley whined, head pressed against Aziraphale’s chest, unable to keep himself upright any longer.

“I loathed you for so long. Despised you, abhorred the very sight of you, detested every–” he stopped, freezing at the sound that caught his ear.

Crowley was sobbing. A stifled sound at first causing his chest to shake from the sheer force of his emotions until his walls came tumbling down all at once and the cries broke free from his chest.

“Oh, Crowley, I–” Aziraphale began.

“No. D-Don’t stop, _please_ ,” Crowley implored, sniffling as he desperately fought to get a hold of himself. He was acting ridiculous, crying over a few little insults from an angel. Nothing he hadn’t heard before, and yet he couldn’t control himself now that they were falling from _his_ angel’s lips with such venom in them. “I just need you to-to… please just don’t stop.”

“Absolutely not, Crowley. I,” Aziraphale started. “I meant none of those things, have _never_ meant them. I love you more than I can put into words, more than I could ever show you through physical acts. You are, at heart, a nice person. A _kind_ person. I would never want to hurt you, maliciously, my darling boy.”

Aziraphale slid his forefinger beneath Crowley’s chin and lifted his head up to face him. His eyes were wide and glossy, specked with tears that trickled down his cheeks and landed messily on Aziraphale’s chest.

The angel smiled up at the demon and gently wiped away the tears with the pad of his thumb before kissing away the last remnants that remained on his cheeks in such a tender way that the heavens themselves threatened to cry in jealousy. He cupped Crowley’s face in his hands and looking earnestly into his eyes.

“You are the purest soul I have ever met. You are _good_ and deserve everything in this world that your heart desires. You deserve to feel loved, Crowley. _I_ love you, and will spend every day showing you just how much,” he whispered.

Crowley craned his neck forward and kissed his angel, telling him a million things he could never say. After a short while, lost in the tenderness of Aziraphale’s adoring kisses, he slowly sat back up and resumed riding him, gently at first but quickly gaining speed and returning to where they were before his emotions had rudely interrupted them.

Aziraphale continued to shower him with praise, his hands searching Crowley’s slender torso as he did so, exploring every aspect of his demon that he could as he watched him bob up and down in his lap. Crowley shut his eyes and lost his hands in his hair, throwing his head back as he lost himself in Aziraphale’s compliments and the sensation of the angel inside of him.

His orgasm was beginning to pool in his gut, and he felt strange. He had cum plenty of times in his lifetime but this time felt different, perhaps it was the mere fact that his fantasy had now been fulfilled and the idea of it actually happening right here and now was too much.

Aziraphale wrapped a hand around Crowley’s erection and began to pump his fist in time to Crowley’s movements, causing gentle moans to spill from the demon’s lips. He sucked his gut in and grabbed at Aziraphale’s torso for something to hold onto as he rode the high that was close to breaching inside him.

“Aziraphale, I…” Crowley mumbled. “Ah, I need you. Shite, _pl_ ease.”

“It’s okay. I’m right here, my dear. You look so beautiful, so ethereal, so magnificent, so–” he stopped, words dying on his lips at the sight of pure majesty before him.

A whoosh of air and pure light filled the room. Aziraphale found himself blinded at what lay before him; light was pouring from Crowley’s chest until, with a clap of thunder resonating through the two of them, Crowley’s jet-black wings sprung into being.

It had only been a week since he had last seen Crowley’s wings but they would forever be a sight to behold. How something so beautiful could ever be regarded as disgusting, distorted, and wrong by his heavenly peers Aziraphale would never know. The demon’s wings were stretched as much as they could be without knocking anything of worth off one of the many cluttered surfaces around the room.

“ _Oh!_ ” Crowley exclaimed at an unashamedly loud volume as he came, without warning, over Aziraphale’s hand and stomach, spilling over the angel’s soft, pale flesh. He doubled over; no energy left in his system to keep himself upright.

Crowley’s wings enveloped the two of them, hiding the two supernatural entities from anything that would threaten to break this moment. Aziraphale slid himself out of Crowley and wrapped his arms around him, holding him close as he stroked the silky, black feathers closest to his hands. At first touch, Crowley’s wings felt so strangely similar to Aziraphale’s own and yet so starkly different – they were made up of the same stuffs, after all – and he lost himself in the newly discovered sensation.

Crowley hummed contentedly at the intimate touch, still straddling Aziraphale; drained and exhausted, and allowing himself to be loved for once in his lonely existence. The two beings were exceptionally sweaty and sticky, something Aziraphale was becoming increasingly more aware of as time passed. Finally, he snapped his fingers to clean them both up, unable to feel comfortable until done so.

“I love you so much, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered into Crowley’s ear, kissing the top of his head tenderly.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, but without the usual bite the words usually held. They were soft, almost joking in their nature, and Aziraphale found himself smiling at Crowley’s rude statement for once.

They lay there for a while, Crowley still straddling Aziraphale with his head resting on the angel’s chest, while Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s majestic wings in a soothing motion. Both were lost in their own thoughts as they rode the waves of the come down until both of their bodies all but felt like jelly.

Eventually, Crowley slid off Aziraphale’s lap and settled beside him. He waited patiently for Aziraphale to carefully organise his bedsheets for them just the way he liked it and they both settled beneath them comfortably. It felt oddly liberating to lie in Aziraphale’s bed, naked and beneath the covers, but entirely right.

Crowley lay on his back and signalled for Aziraphale to come close, which he did without hesitation, resting his head comfortably on Crowley’s chest. He took a moment to settle but when he did Crowley extended his wings to wrap around the two of them, enveloping them in the familiar comfort of his original form.

Crowley ran his fingers up and down Aziraphale’s shoulder and arm, tracing the faint outline of muscles that lay beneath the skin. He could not help himself, simply making up lost time in his journey to explore every aspect of his angel’s body, mind, and soul that he could willingly gain access to. Aziraphale softened at the touch and hummed pleasantly, the sound vibrating through Crowley’s torso until it filled him up and settled in his chest.

Nothing could get better than this, Crowley thought, and he was right. After wanting and yearning for one thing only for eternity he had feared this would be the end of something important; the end of his friendship with Aziraphale as he had come to know and love it. This was not entirely untrue, of course. Their friendship as they had understood it was ending, but it was evolving into something more, something ineffably comprehendible, and that was okay. They would discover how to navigate this new territory together, just as the Great Plan had intended those many years ago that God had planned it.

“I love you, Crowley. Are you okay?” Aziraphale whispered cautiously into the darkness.

“I’m tickety-boo, angel,” Crowley smirked. “Tickety-fucking-boo.”

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone in either Heaven or Hell's head offices looked at the list of miracles performed by either of these two complete imbeciles used this evening then they would wash their eyes out with bleach and beg to never be healed.
> 
> Hopefully you liked this fic if you got this far but I just wrote it on a whim after a friend challenged me to it so. Leave a comment and kudos if you didn't entirely hate it lololol


End file.
